Grease and Blood
by NoMoreTears
Summary: Much to Mason's dismay he was enrolled in Bullworth after years of homeschooling. A series of events causes his anger over being accepted to subside, but it wouldn't be long before new problems arose for the 18 year old. Through it all, will Mason learn to open up and recognize the feelings he's been denying? Or will he shut down and revert back to his old, destructive behavior?
1. Chapter One

It was a little after noon when I rolled over and opened my eyes, cursing the sunlight that flooded the room. I was absolutely exhausted. Throughout the night I had woken up every hour, on the hour, and each time my eyes darted to the clock. A cruel reminder that I was never going to get enough sleep. It wasn't fair; I had been sleeping perfectly for days, and the night before I had to be somewhere, of course I couldn't sleep.

The reason behind my sudden onset of insomnia I couldn't ascertain, and eventually chalked it up to too much caffeine as I pulled a pair of light blue jeans and a white t-shirt from my closet. Though, as the minutes passed, I couldn't help but have this niggling fear that something was going to happen today. Something bad.

I shrugged the thought away and turned the shower on, careful to step away from the nozzle. Too many times I had been sprayed by the ungodly cold water, and as of right now, an icy shock was not something I wanted.

Steam rose over the shower door, fogging the glass and the mirror that I had been staring in. I wiped away the condensation and gazed into the mirror. Light blue eyes stared back at me tiredly. Barely noticeable freckles dotted the skin under my eyes and around my nose, a few of them sitting under my full lips. I ran my hand over the dark stubble that had been growing on my jaw for well over a week . My parents had been pressuring me to shave, telling me I looked like a homeless person.

I sighed. Ever since my mother married Nathaniel her whole attitude had changed. It was like she became a completely different person. Gone was her lax demeanor, her crass sense of humor, the quirkiness she had been known for back home. Nathaniel and the pressure to fit in with his crowd had sucked that out of her. A sad sight it was to see her change like that.

But with all the trouble I had caused before our move, and after, I couldn't help but feel as if I had played some part in that. I wasn't exactly the perfect son, nor was I easy to handle, and with a kid like me you'd want to numb yourself to the world around you.

With that final thought I stripped down and jumped into the shower, hurriedly washing my hair and body. I didn't want to be out any longer than I had to be, and I had a few errands to tend to. Running around town wasn't a favorite thing of mine, even in the right company; unless of course there was trouble to be made.

But not today. Today, I needed to head over to Aquaberry, then to the salon. It was the only thing I agreed with my parents on, that I needed a haircut. My hair was down to my shoulders now, a shaggy, dark brown mess that desperately needed to be cut off.

I dried myself off and finished getting ready, grabbing my phone from my nightstand before I headed downstairs, stopping off for a bite to eat in the kitchen. It was close to one o' clock, and I groaned at the time. I knew the Vale was going to be packed. It always is in the summer, dominated by both the locals and tourists. This is the second summer I've experienced here, and I've never been happier that it was coming to a close. I couldn't wait for things to return to normal.

Mail was splayed across the entryway, and I guessed the mailman had come sometime this morning. I was going to brush the pile aside with my foot, but one envelope caught my eye. The letter, which had been addressed to my parents, Mr. and Mrs. Luna, instantly dampened my mood. The watermark alone was a dead giveaway to where I had hoped I wasn't going, given all the things I'd caused. Grumbling under my breath, I snatched the envelope off of the floor and carefully peeled the adhesive back—a skill I had acquired many years ago—and quickly read through the long letter.

I was accepted. To the ill-famed Bullworth Academy. Of course, that acceptance came with many guidelines and strict rules that were to be followed, and I didn't blame ol' Crabblesnitch for setting so many conditions.

That didn't mean I wasn't angry.

Tossing the letter aside, I stormed out of the house without bothering to check if the front door had actually closed, and set out for town.

. . .

It must be hard, I thought, to find your house unless you had your address. Every mansion that lined the long, winding road seemed to be built exactly the same way, a carbon copy the ones beside it. There was no mistaking my house, though; it was the only one I'd seen with a bright red door. My mother had requested it when she and my stepfather were speaking with the real estate agent. Unfortunately for her, there weren't many houses with red doors in the Vale, if at all, and so the door was painted shortly after we moved in.

I reached the end of the road, the last house on the block that I absolutely loathed, and crossed the street before I was noticed. The owner of the house had a large, mean looking German shepherd that always managed to escape from the front yard and chase me as far as its legs would carry it.

I stole a sideways glance at the house and breathed a sigh of relief when I didn't see the dog in its usual spot on the porch, and grunted when my body slammed into someone else's. Just as I was about to open my mouth to deliver an insult to the jerk who bumped into me—though it was probably my fault the collision took place anyway—the familiar warm, sweet scent of cologne flooded my nostrils. I looked up to see a startled yet annoyed looking Gord glaring at me.

The glare quickly disappeared when he realized it was me. The corners of his lips turned up in an amused smirk, and the slightly shorter boy crossed his arms over his chest. He had ditched the sweater vest he normally wears for a white Aquaberry polo shirt and a pair of tan slacks. It was odd seeing him out of his normal uniform.

"Well, well. The hermit has finally left his dwelling," he sneered.

"It's so nice to see you, too, Gord," I rolled my eyes.

He pouted. "Oh, if only the feeling were mutual, Mason."

"What, you don't like seeing my pretty face anymore?" I smirked.

"Oh, I love seeing your gorgeous face, believe me; I fear I'd have gone into withdrawal if I didn't see you soon," he chuckled. "What's got you out of the house?"

"I've got a few errands to run," I said. _And I didn't feel like being in the house. I was still angry over the acceptance letter._

"For some reason I feel you're not telling me the full story."

I raised a brow. "What gave you that idea."

"The frown on your face?" he said as if it should have been obvious. I hadn't even realized I was frowning.

"Oh," I said simply. "I'm not in that great of a mood today."

Gord motioned for me to follow him, and we began walking down the road toward the center of town.


	2. Chapter Two

We passed through the throng of tourists and the few locals that dared to mingle with the loud, haughty intruders that invaded the usually quiet streets. Gord led me to a table outside of the hotel and I sat across from him, leaning my arms on the incredibly hot metal rim around the edge of the glass table, a decision I regretted immediately.

It was as hot outside as the metal that burned my skin, and I tugged at the seam of my shirt, peeling the fabric off of my skin. I regretted wearing jeans, and wondered how Gord was surviving in those heavy slacks of his.

I didn't bother to question it and sat in silence—or as quiet as it would get with all of the people around us. His eyes drifted to the crowd occupying the square, he seemed to be searching for something, someone, and I waved my hand in front of his face. Gord blinked a few times and stared at me questioningly.

"What're you staring out into space for?"

He shrugged. "I thought I saw Hopkins. I had a favor to ask of him."

My lip curled back in disgust. I had heard of the boy, and met him a few times, though our encounters were always brief and rarely memorable. The squinty eyed boy was a mean son of a bitch, or at least he was in my presence, and I didn't like him. I didn't like anyone who gave unwarranted attitude. Though, that seemed to be a thing around here; everyone was always in a pissy mood.

"Anyway," he continued, "what's got your spirits down? It's too nice a day to be in a bad mood."

"I got accepted into Bullworth," I said flatly, slumping over the table. I rested my chin on my forearms and stared up at Gord. "I don't want to go there."

"Bullworth isn't the greatest place in the world, I'll be the first to admit that, but it's not so bad. Besides, you'd get to see me every day," he winked.

I couldn't help but smile. "The only upside to going there."

"It had better be," he laughed. "Now, why don't you want to go?"

Gord was my friend. He had been for the last year and a half. The two of us had met after things had begun to settle down at the academy. The events that took place were known to everyone in town, even the freaks and degenerates that worked at the carnival had heard about the chaos. My knowledge of the goings on had been a little more extensive than most townsfolk, though. And because of my knowledge, I wasn't prepared to go to that school. Only, he didn't know that. As good of friends as we are, there were still things I hadn't told him. And probably wouldn't.

I had always been honest with him. For the most part, ever since I had met him.

We had met one morning—a Saturday, if I remember correctly—during the early spring. It was cold still, and a light coating of snow dusted the streets. I was in Aquaberry searching for a decent blazer to wear for a function my family had been invited to. Aquaberry had been a last resort. I had detested the Vale then, filled with snobby, entitled teens and adults, so I trekked from my home to Bullworth Town. It had proved to be a useless trip, for everything in the clothing store there was either used and ragged or much too tight for my body. I was tall, just over six feet, and had broad shoulders. My body was lean and toned, and hard to find fitting clothes for.

Gord had sauntered over, eyeing me with a suggestive smirk on his face, spewing pick-up lines that I found more humorous than anything, but happily shot back equally provocative words of my own.

And that was the first of many encounters we had, eventually becoming friends and spending time together when he could squeeze me into his schedule. Much to the dismay of his friends. I wasn't poor by any means, quite wealthy in fact, but my appearance didn't show that. I wasn't clad head to toe in Aquaberry, nor did I speak with a faux British accent, or walk with a pretentious air about me.

No, I looked like a punk from New Coventry. The only thing that granted me a great amount of attention from both sexes was my looks. And despite that, the preps he surrounded himself with were displeased that Gord continued to spend time with me, given the pressure from his friends wasn't too extreme.

"I just don't want to go," I answered finally. "I've already seen most of the students in town, and they all look like assholes. I don't want to spend a year in a dorm room with a group of said assholes."

"You could always live at home," he said. "That would lessen the pain of having to attend Bullworth. Or," he leaned across the table, "I could see if Derby would consider lending you a room…or you could share one with me."

"I'm afraid neither of us would get any sleep if that were to happen," I said suggestively.

Gord grinned. "And I believe that would be the only time I'd be happy about being exhausted."

"I couldn't agree more."

Gord and I had hooked up on many occasions, but nothing had ever come of it, a fact I'm not entirely sure I am content with or disappointed by. I liked Gord; he was attractive, and a great friend when he wasn't being prissy. I doubted anything would happen between us, seeing as he still valued his reputation and feared being cast out from the group. I hated that about him, and sometimes wished he would change, but it'd be hypocritical on my part. There were plenty of things about myself I'm sure he wished was different.

Gord stared at me, seeming lost in thought, a slight smile playing on his thin lips. I watched him curiously, wondering what he was thinking about, and drummed my fingers on the table absently.

"Those errands you mentioned before…what did you have to do?"

I nodded my head in the direction of the clothing store behind him. "I have to get a few things in there."

"Perfect. A little retail therapy should brighten that mood of yours," his fingers wrapped around my wrist, and he pulled me from my seat and into Aquaberry. Gord turned his head toward me. "I was looking for an excuse to come in here, so thank you for being in a bad mood, Mason."

I snorted. "You're welcome. I'm glad one of us is benefiting from my misery."

. . .

A half hour had passed of Gord dragging me around the small store, holding clothes up to my body, using me like a human mannequin. He seemed to be having a lot of fun doing so, and I was amused at the almost child-like excitement he displayed each time he found something new, or something that would look good on me.

I had to admit, it was cute in a way.

"Here, go try these on," Gord handed me a pair of light grey slacks. "If you need help, I'd be happy to aid in undressing you."

I laughed and shook my head, disappearing behind the curtain. I unzipped my jeans and stepped out of them, tripping over myself as I realized I'd forgotten to take my shoes off. I kicked them off and tugged on the pants, then proceeded to turn every which way, seeing how I looked in them.

"Well hello there," Gord said from behind me. I turned to see him nodding approvingly. "They look good on you, Luna, snug in all the right places, too," he added.

"Guess I'll get them then," I said and began taking them off. Gord remained in his spot. "Do you mind?"

"No, I don't. Continue," he joked.

I gestured for him to leave and froze momentarily at the sound of multiple voices calling for Gord. Some of them I hadn't recognized and briefly wondered if a fight was about to erupt in the small space. The curtain fell back into place and I put my shoes and jeans back on, carefully folding the pants Gord had given me. I peeked out from behind the heavy cloth.

At least six preps crowded near the entrance, Gord in the center of the group. Their voices were hushed, and I couldn't tell what they were talking about, but judging by the way they motioned their hands, the harsh sound of their voices, it was clear they were pissed. I stepped out from the dressing room and continued shopping, trying my best not to blatantly watch what was going on.

The bell rang, signaling the door had opened, and out went the preps, taking my friend with them. I frowned and after a moment, returned my attention to the racks of clothes.

I piled the items onto the counter, greeting the cashier with the friendliest smile I could manage.

"Will that be all?"

"No, I'd like to buy these," I answered jokingly.

He smiled. "I'm glad."

The man rang up the items, placing them gently into bags marked with the store's logo, and read me the price. I handed over the credit card my mother had lent me and after signing the receipt, left, walking out into the stifling summer heat.

I leaned against the storefront, curious as to what was going on with Gord, and decided it was none of my business. I didn't care much for prep drama, and knew that if it was anything bad, Gord was sure to spill his guts sooner or later.

In the meantime, I needed to get my hair cut.


	3. Chapter Three

Pausing briefly to check my phone for any messages—from anyone at all, and found none—I spotted him sitting in the same seat he had earlier. Gord was slouched over, an unusual sight considering he was always anal about having correct posture. He wore the deepest of frowns, and as I neared him, I could see his face was a dark shade of red. Whether the heat had caused that or something else, I wasn't sure. I approached him tentatively, checking around for any sign of the preps he had left with moments before.

"Hey, what'd you ditch me for?" I said lightly. "That was pretty mean, you know."

Gord peeked up at me, a sad look in his brown eyes. I stopped just a few inches away from him and gripped his jaw gently in my hand. A small cut sat an inch or so underneath his eye. Blood was smeared around the wound.

Concerned, and angry at the fact he was hurt, I crouched down in front of him. "What happened?"

"Don't worry about it," he said dismissively.

"You're my friend. I'm going to worry about it," I said firmly. "Now tell me what happened."

Gord took a deep breath. "Rumors are beginning to float around, and you, Mason, are at the center of them."

"What rumors?" I narrowed my eyes. "No one at the school even knows me."

"Ah, but you're already Mr. Popularity. Apparently, you helped spur the chaos at Bullworth two years ago. And Derby is quite angry about that, if only for the fact Harrington House was destroyed during that time," Gord looked me in the eyes. "The others came to tell me that I needed to stop hanging out with you. They called me a traitor. And did this," he pointed the cut on his face.

I clenched my jaw. "I had no part in any of that, Gord. Why would they say that?"

"I'm not sure, Mason. You tell me," he shrugged, regarding me skeptically. "You said it yourself: no one there knows you. So how could they blame you for that?"

I stared at my hands, unsure of how to respond. Gord cleared throat.

"Have you ever told anyone my name?" I asked. "Like Derby?"

"Well, yes, when he asked who you were—"

"And doesn't he have a problem with you and I being friends?"

Reluctantly he nodded.

"So don't you think this could be a way for them to break us up?" I asked, rising to my feet.

"Break us up?" he raised an eyebrow.

I felt my face heat up. "Make you hate me, make us—oh, shut up, you know what I mean."

He snickered. "I suppose you're right. I hope you are. I wouldn't want to find out you're lying."

"I wouldn't lie to you," I said. "So, uh, you wanna come with me? I'm going to go get my hair cut."

Gord rose from his seat. "I'll think about it," he said teasingly, and started walking off.

"Hey!" I chased after him. "Don't leave me."

"Why, would you miss me?"

"To death," I answered, grinning.

He pursed his lips. "See, that's still not enough. And until it is, I'll be going."

"Oh no you won't!" I chuckled, knowing full well I was about to piss Gord up.

I snatched his walking body up by his hips, and hoisted him over my shoulder. Gord began writhing violently, complaining about the possibility of his shirt being wrinkled. All I could do was laugh. Multiple times he attempted pushing off of me, but despite the strength the prep possessed, he couldn't wrench my arm off of his waist, and was stuck hanging over my shoulder. I carried the grumpy boy across the square toward the salon, and placed him back on his feet when we reached the entrance.

Gord glared at me.

"Oh, if only looks could kill," I suppressed a laugh.

"You'd be dead and buried by now. How dare you pick me up like that," he snapped. "I could have gotten hurt—"

"You know I wouldn't drop you."

"Even so—"

I rolled my eyes. "Quit being such a queen. Come inside with me. Unless of course you need to rush home to iron out those wrinkles."

He scowled. "Screw you."

"Some other time," I ruffled his hair, laughing as he swatted my hands away, and walked inside.

The hairdresser greeted me with a friendly smile and a tight hug. Gord huffed beside me, making it apparent he was still cranky, and I ignored him.

"Your hair's gotten so long, kid," the woman marveled, running her fingers through my hair. "What are you doing to it?"

She sat me down in one of the unoccupied chairs near the rear wall and listened intently while I described what I wanted done with my hair.

"That's what you're going to do?" Gord blurted from behind me. I glanced at him in the mirror.

"It's not the worst I could do, besides, what's wrong with a Mohawk?"

His eyes widened. "You'll look like a delinquent!"

I sighed heavily. "Have you got a better idea?"

"Well, now that you asked, yes," Gord replied. I could only wonder what ridiculous, rich boy hair cut he'd suggest.

The woman buttoned the smock around my neck while Gord rambled on to her, describing some photo he'd seen that would suit me perfectly. The girl looked to me for approval, and I shrugged.

"Go for it. If anything, I could shave my head when I get home."

The girl laughed. "True. It's only hair after all."

Gord sat in the seat beside me, watching as if this was the most interesting thing he'd ever seen. He looked positively giddy, and it was a welcomed change from his previous mood.

By the time she had finished cutting off nearly all of my hair, Gord was grinning like an idiot, as was the hair dresser.

"Looks good."

"Really good," Gord agreed.

I turned toward the mirror and was actually surprised with the results. I did look good; my hair was much shorter now, and styled to look messy and unkempt. My bangs were parted to the side and stopped just over my right eye.

"What do you think?" she asked. "Planning on shaving it off?"

"Nah," I smiled. "I like it."

"I'm glad, kid. It looks much better than the Mohawk you suggested. Your friend's got good taste."

"Certainly does."

. . .

"My head feels so much lighter without all that hair," I said, running my hand over my hair.

"You look better without that mane, too," Gord said. "So, any other things on the agenda today?"

"Aside from bringing this stuff home? I don't know," I shrugged. "I hadn't thought of anything else to do. Unless you had something in mind."

"Well, I was going to attend a boxing match at the club…it's a really big fight, and I didn't want to miss it."

I nodded. "I know I can't go to that. I'll wind up getting my ass kicked."

"And we can't let that happen, now can we?"

"No. I think there's been enough violence for today," I dropped my gaze to the cut on his cheek. "You sure you still want to go there after what happened?"

He waved me off. "I'll be fine. The Hopkins kid is fighting today; if need be, I could always ask for his help heaven forbid they come after me again."

I stared at him skeptically. "I don't know... Ah, it's up to you. I'll be around if you need extra muscle."

"Good to know. It was nice seeing you again today," he said after a moment.

"Yeah, it was. Think we can do it again sometime? Y'know, before school starts and all. I hardly get to see you then," I muttered.

"We'll be going to the same school now; you and I will see each other more often. For now, I have errands of my own to attend to. I'll see you around," he smiled.

"Later, rich boy," I said, and parted ways with Gord.

Again, I was angry, and this time it wasn't over being accepted to the academy. No, it was over the bastard who had started those rumors.

I had a feeling as to who it was, and knew there was no way I could get to him, which made the situation all the more frustrating.

Sighing, I all but jogged the rest of the way home, determined to climb into bed and sleep the rest of the day away.


	4. Chapter Four

My mother's car was in the driveway when I reached the house, and I guessed that she had gotten off early from work. She was a nurse down at the hospital in town, and with the amount of fights that happened on campus and around the Vale, she was constantly working to help take care of all the wounded teens. It was rare to see her, especially so early in the day, unless she was sleeping on the couch. Sometimes, she would be so tired she wouldn't make it up to her bedroom.

Would she be there when I walked in?

I unlocked the door and closed it gently behind me. I could hear the television from here; there was applause, and since it was still fairly early, she must have been watching a talk show. My mother loved those, despite how ridiculous they tended to be, and she claimed that 'a little junk TV every once in a while isn't such a bad thing'.

She was laying on the couch when I crept into the living room, and holding my breath, I reached out and poked her shoulder. My mother jumped, shrieking loud enough to break glass, and whirled toward me with horrified expression on her face. I broke into a fit of laughter, moving backward as she swatted at my arm.

After she calmed down, she took a good look at me and smiled. "You have no idea how happy I am that you cut your hair. Definitely not what I expected you to get, though. I would have thought you'd come home with, I don't know, a pink Mohawk or something."

"I was close, but you can thank Gord for this, he talked me out of the Mohawk."

"I'll have to give that boy a hug if I see him," she said. "Did you pick up your clothes?"

"Yes, I did," I set the bag down on the couch. She rummaged through the contents, and seeming satisfied with my purchases, handed the bag back.

"Good. I see you got the mail before," she gestured toward the pile of mail on the coffee table.

"And I see you enrolled me in Bullworth," I said with an edge to my tone.

"Don't get angry with me, Mason. It's about time you returned to school. I think you've had more than enough time to mellow out and work on your issues. And you should be lucky Dr. Crabblesnitch even considered letting you set foot there," she spat. "Prove to me, to your father, that you're a good kid. And redeem yourself with the head of the school. I don't want you messing this up."

"I wouldn't dream of it," I deadpanned.

She pointed her finger at me. "I'm serious, Mason. You have no idea all the things you caused, not only there, but at home. And with your father's friends."

"Oh, I'm real sorry about making Nathaniel look bad in front of his golf buddies," I rolled my eyes.

"This is no time for sarcasm! We're giving you a second chance here. Take it, and make the right choices. I'm not going to expect anything less from you, and I swear if you cause any more problems, you're in deep shit," I widened my eyes. Whenever my mother swore, you knew she meant business. And I guessed my ass really was on the line now.

"Alright, alright. I'll behave," I said.

"You better mean that," she said. "Go put your stuff away now. I'm going to lie down."

She shut the television off and trudged upstairs behind me, looking more tired now than she had just a few minutes ago. I never understood why she'd work at a job that exhausted her so, but she liked it, so the lack of sleep must be worth it, for whatever reason.

Our doors opened and closed simultaneously. I didn't bother to put anything away, instead tossing the bag across my room, and stripping myself of everything but the black boxers I wore.

My bed looked like heaven, and I couldn't wait to climb underneath the cool sheets and lose myself in a deep, dreamless sleep. I craved it more than anything, and just minutes after I buried my head into the mass of pillows, I dozed off.

. . .

_10:30,_ I thought. _I slept from one in the afternoon 'til ten. Christ, I'm never going to be able to fall back to sleep._

I rolled onto my back and yawned loudly, feeling my way through the dim light for the television remote. I paused and sat up in bed. I hadn't remembered turning any lights on before falling asleep, so how was it not pitch black in here?

"I see sleeping beauty is finally awake."

I jumped, and pressed a hand over my chest, trying my best to calm myself down. Gord sat in the oversized leather arm chair that took up what space was left between my bed and the wall. He had his legs propped up on the edge of the mattress, and his long body was stretched out comfortably. Gord had changed his clothes since I saw him last, trading in the polo shirt and khakis for a crisp white button down and grey dress pants. A few of the top buttons on his shirt were undone.

"How long have you been here?" I asked sleepily. "And how'd you get in?"

"It's quite obvious where your spare house key is, inside that fake rock on the porch, and I've been here for about a half hour," he answered.

I propped the pillows up behind me and turned the lamp on beside my bed. "Why didn't you wake me up?"

"I would have, but it just so happens I like you better when you're sleeping," he teased. Gord leaned forward and rested his arms on the bed. "Did you sleep off that mood of yours?"

"Somewhat," I yawned. "I mean, I feel better than I did earlier. Definitely. I'm still bummed about it though."

"How was that boxing match?" I asked before he got a chance to speak.

"Hopkins won," he grinned. "I made quite a bit of money off of him, so I'd say it was a good night."

"Glad you had fun," I smiled. "What brought you here?"

His smile faltered long enough for me to notice. "A boy can't check in on his friend?"

"I guess he can, but is that the real reason?" I slid toward him, pulling the blankets over my bare back.

"No, it's not. I wanted to speak with you about what happened earlier. The rumors," he said. "Honestly, it bothers me. I couldn't see you doing anything like that, but at the same time, you were very…shifty, if you will, during that time. And then you just disappeared for months."

"I had disappeared during that time because I wasn't well. I needed time alone," I muttered. "And as far as Bullworth goes, I can say it over and over, I played no part in any of the drama," I was getting annoyed just thinking about that time period and prayed he changed the subject. I didn't want to hear about it anymore.

He remained quiet for what felt like forever until he finally spoke. "Hmm. I believe you. I think everyone's just getting all riled up, what with the return of Gary. So, in a way, I suppose it's only natural for Derby to want to cast out the unknowns."

"With an ever scheming mind like his, it's not surprising people would be on edge. Can't trust anyone," I said, averting my gaze to the wall behind him. Nausea washed over me at the sound of the boy's name, and I knew then that that was where the rumors had stemmed from. It wasn't Derby's paranoia.

"No, you can't, but enough about all of that. I heard enough of it during that match, and I swear, it was a miracle I didn't snap. I need to relax," Gord pushed my body back and I moved into my original spot, watching as Gord slid into the bed next to me. "We've got school in two weeks, Mason," he murmured. "And I still haven't done any of my summer work. I'll have to pay one of the nerds to do it."

I shook my head. "Can't do your own work?"

Gord stared at me incredulously. "Heavens, no; when you've got the money to pay someone, why bother?"

"And what happens when there's no money left?"

The look on his face only became more ridiculous as I finished my sentence. "Mason, don't you say such things. Daddy will always have money."

"Until he runs out," I said, smirking.

He gasped. "Oh, shush. That will never happen," Gord said, leaning over the side of the bed. I nudged his backside and laughed as he began to tip over the edge of the bed, clutching wildly at the sheets. I grabbed his waist and yanked him backward.

"Oh, you're evil," he said venomously.

"Is that such a bad thing?" I asked, rolling over onto my side to face the glaring Gord.

"No," he said, turning his nose up. "You're lucky I like boys with a bad streak."

Gord had sank deeper into the bed until we were eye level. His shirt had bunched up to reveal a generous bit of skin, and I found myself staring at the 'v' shape of his hips, turning away only when I heard him clear his throat.

"Get a little distracted there, Mason?" he looked like he was trying not to smile.

"I don't know what you're talking about," I said and rolled over onto my back.

Gord shifted closer and placed a hand on my stomach, circling his finger over my abs. I watched as his hand drifted dangerously close to the waistband of my underwear, and held my breath, anticipating his next move. He did nothing, though, but lingered there, dragging a fingernail agonizingly slow across my skin. I squirmed, waiting for him to do something, wanting him to do something.

"Oh, but I think you do," he purred. "I wouldn't blame you. I can't say I didn't do my share of ogling while you were asleep."

"I'd never peg you as the voyeuristic type," I said with a slight smile.

"I'm not. It was utter torture sitting here, waiting for you to get up. I don't know how those people get off," he said as if voyeurism was the most bewildering thing he'd ever heard of.

"Some people think it's more fun to look when you can't touch," I shrugged.

A wicked grin spread across his face. "Well, _I'm _not one of those people. I think it's more fun to touch," Gord dipped his fingers under the waistband of my underwear.

I wasn't sure who leaned in first, and in that moment, I didn't care. I grabbed the front of Gord's shirt and pulled him down, hastily undoing the buttons of his shirt as he settled in my lap, never once breaking the kiss.

"Watch it…I like this shirt," he grumbled.

"And I'd like to rip it off," I whispered into his ear, and began kissing and nipping my way down his throat, relishing the sounds that escaped his lips. He grabbed my chin and crashed his lips onto my own, wrapping his fingers in my hair, pulling on the strands sharply.

I hissed at the sudden pain and flipped the two of us over, pinning Gord on his back beneath me. Gord gripped my waist and pressed himself into me and I shivered at the feeling of our bodies fervently rubbing against one another, kissing him as if I were never going to see him again. I felt like I was losing touch with the world around me; all I could focus on was him, the ragged breaths he took, the smooth hands that raked over me, knowing exactly where to touch.

I reached in between our bodies, a feat that seemed impossible, and palmed him through the fabric of his dress pants, moving my hand in time with his own movements.

The throaty groan that rumbled in the back of his throat was cut short at the sound of my name being shouted from somewhere in the room. I quickly climbed off of Gord, panting and paling at the sight of my mother standing in the doorway.

She was dressed in her nurse uniform, and had a look of pure disgust on her face. My mother opened her mouth to speak several times, each attempt producing only strangled sounds.

Gord and I sat frozen on the bed, coming down from the aroused haze, awaiting the moment my mother spoke something remotely coherent. And when she did, all I could do was sit there, crushed.

"You disgust me. Of all the things you could possibly do, of the things you've done, to ruin this family…Mason, this is by far the worst. Get that…that boy out of here, now," she spat, giving us the most hateful of glares.

My mother stormed down the hall, cursing loud enough for Gord and I to hear, and after the front door slammed shut, he placed a hand tentatively on my shoulder.

I crumpled onto my side, fighting the tears that threatened to fall.

"Are you alright?" he asked softly. His thumb traced over my arm soothingly.

"Honestly? No, I'm not," I said, my voice shaking. I took a deep breath and pushed off of the bed, putting on the clothes I had worn earlier.

"What are you doing?"

"Getting dressed."

"Obviously," he sighed. "But why?"

"I need air," I said, glancing over at him while I buttoned my jeans.

"If you want me to go, I will," he said.

I sat back down on the bed. "That's up to you. I wouldn't mind the company."

"Even mine?" he frowned. "Look what just happened. If I wasn't here, this wouldn't have happened."

"It's not your fault. She'd have found out sooner or later," I ran a hand through my hair. "This isn't the worst I've done to her anyway. My mom'll get over it."

"You seem so nonchalant about this. I think that worries me more than if you were to be having a breakdown," he said.

I scoffed. "Well, when you fuck up as much as I do, it doesn't bother you as much when you hurt someone."

"Still, if you need to talk, Mason—"

"Just come walk with me for a little while," I ignored him. "It's summer, so you don't have to worry about curfew," I said, glancing at the time. It was close to midnight.

"Only two more weeks of freedom," he lamented.

"Better enjoy it while we can."


	5. Chapter Five

Gord and I had taken our time heading to the beach, neither of us speaking, only enjoying the silence that the night provided. All the tourists had retreated to their hotel, leaving the streets empty, devoid of any sign of life. The Vale seemed like a ghost town. Even the police that normally patrolled the roads were nowhere to be found.

We sat on the benches at the edge of the pier, looking out over the harbor, the calm waters illuminated by the bright moonlight. The air was cool, and it felt almost like spring instead of summer, and that fact I didn't mind. I hated summer; I preferred the cooler weather.

I could tell Gord didn't though, as he was rubbing his arms and shivering lightly.

"Cold?" I asked. "We could leave if you want."

"It's fine. Mason…. I…" Gord chewed on his lower lip while he tried to find the right words to say. He shook his head. "Are you going to be okay? With your mother and all."

I sighed. "I will. She'll learn to deal…eventually, I guess. At least I'll be gone in a few weeks and she won't have to put up with me."

"Yes, and then I'll be stuck with you," he laughed quietly.

"Aren't you lucky," I nudged him with my elbow.

"Oh, extremely," he rolled his eyes. Gord laughed suddenly, and I shot him a look. "I don't think I'm going to be welcome in your house anymore."

I smirked. "I don't think I will be either."

"Looks like you'll need a place to stay."

"Is this your way of extending an invite?"

"You know that could never happen. My parents don't even live in the area, and Harrington House is off limits to the likes of you."

I laughed loudly. "And since when has that ever stopped me from sneaking in there?"

We both smiled, and I wondered briefly if he was recalling the same memories I was. The many nights we spent hiding away in his room from the other preps, laughing, drinking…would that all change when I became a student there? With me being on campus, his friends would have greater access to me and I was sure if they were determined enough, they'd do anything possible to make sure I went nowhere near him.

The thought hurt. Gord was the only friend I had here, and given my history with people, I wasn't sure I would make many more. I couldn't be alone there.

Not only that, I didn't want to be alone. Not anymore. I had spent years stuck in the house alone, the only visitors being the teachers that came to work with me. Six years in isolation, and I didn't want there to be anymore. Which is probably why I clung to Gord as much as I did. He was all I had.

A comfortable silence had fallen over us as we turned away from each other, listening to the sound of the waves gently lapping against the shore. I stretched my legs out and leaned back against the hard bench, cursing under my breath as splinters dug into my lower back, painfully scraping at my skin.

Out of the corner of my eye I could see Gord perched on the bench, drumming his fingers on his thighs.

"Something wrong?" I asked.

Gord turned his body toward me and slid closer until our legs were pressed together. The moon had cast a dim glow over his face, and I saw that his lips were curved into a frown. He looked bothered, by what I wasn't sure.

"No, I was just thinking is all," Gord said quietly.

"What about?"

"Things," he answered hesitantly. By the look on his face it was apparent he wanted me to drop the subject. And I did, much to his relief.

Bright light suddenly shone in our eyes, followed by the deep voice of who I only assumed was a police officer. He urged us to leave, saying it was too late for us kids to be roaming the streets and we stood up, bypassing the officer with mumbled complaints.

I shot Gord a pained look as we stopped under the streetlight near the bus stop. He yawned tiredly and glanced in the direction of the academy.

"It's getting late," he said.

"I know," I scratched the back of my head awkwardly. "I don't want to go home…my stepfather gets back around this time…and I'm sure my mother has already shot her mouth off."

He frowned sympathetically. "Don't worry about them. You said they'd be able to get over it, so give them time."

I nodded, but his words weren't much help. Though, I wouldn't tell him that.

I wasn't worried about their inability to handle what I was, or to move on and accept it; whether they liked it or not wasn't something I held much concern for. No, it was the things they would say, the things they would do.

Nathaniel was notoriously homophobic, and often preached his hateful rhetoric to those around him, and especially me after he had gotten the idea that it wasn't girls that I favored the most.

Now, I wasn't gay, but I was certainly not straight. Regardless, I had been given a nasty black eye and feared that I would be sporting another one soon.

"I guess you're right. So…I'll see you soon, yeah?" I said hopefully.

"Yeah," he smiled. Gord held his arms out and I happily pulled the smaller boy forward into a tight embrace. He chuckled into the crook of my neck. "That is, if you don't break my ribs."

I loosened my grip on him and laughed. "Sorry."

He shook his head. "Goodnight, Mason."

"Night, rich boy."

. . .

Heaving a sigh of relief at the sight of an empty driveway, I raced quietly along the asphalt and into the house. The lights were off, just as I'd left them, and I listened closely for any sound of movement. I remembered that Nathaniel liked to park inside the garage after having his brand new sports car shit on by a bird, and warily crept through the hall and up the seemingly never ending flight of stairs.

I was alone at last, and I locked my bedroom door behind me, all but running to the bed. My worries about not being able to fall asleep dissipated; I was spent, and all I longed to do was forget the last few hours had ever happened.


	6. Chapter Six

_Their voices were deafening. Malicious slurs and evil cackles resonated around the otherwise empty space, echoes pounding in my ears, growing louder with each new utterance their preteen mouths produced. They cheered him on, begging for blood like crazed animals, jumping over each other to watch the event before them._

_Hard kicks were delivered by the boy who stood over me, laughing with each blow. I coughed and sputtered on the blood that trickled from my mouth onto the dirty cement floor I laid on. His eyes, cold and dark like the steel machinery around us, bore into my own. I shuddered, my twelve year old mind trying to comprehend how someone could be so hateful, so driven to cause someone pain. What had I done? Did I really deserve this?_

_I rolled onto my back after his foot had connected with my jaw, sending my body sprawling back toward the circle of children around us. A few of them leaned down to spit on me, their saliva mixing with the blood that poured from my wounds._

_I looked up at him as he took his time walking toward me. "Johnny, why? What'd I ever do to you?"_

_His lips pressed into a firm line and the boy clenched his small fists. "Shut up," was all he could reply with, ignoring my question and my pleas to cease his attack._

_My body couldn't handle any more of it. _

"_You don't deserve to live!"_

My body jerked violently as I awoke from the nightmare, the memory that replayed in my mind more often than I liked ever since I moved to Bullworth, knowing full well that he was here. My bully, my tormentor. The one who made me into the person I am today.

"Fucking asshole," I muttered and ripped the sheets off. I had managed to sleep for most of the day again, and thankfully it was finally the weekend. I was free to do whatever I wanted, provided I wouldn't be put on lockdown after last night's incident.

And I prayed to whoever was listening that I wouldn't be. I wanted nothing more than to be far away from here, away from the verbal onslaught I was bound to receive.

. . .

I dressed myself in an old, worn out Jack Daniel's t-shirt and a pair of shorts, and bolted for the stairs, no destination in mind.

As I neared the kitchen I could hear my parents arguing, and at the sound of my name, I paused behind the wall, hoping they hadn't heard me.

"Look, I was upset when I said that to him, I didn't mean it!"

"And that's when the truth comes out, Olivia; you said it and you meant it. He disgusts you. All the more reason to have him moved into the dorms early," Nathaniel growled. "We can't have him here. It's evil what he is, and sympathizing with him enough to lend him a place to stay will only land us a spot in Hell along with your faggot of a son."

I cringed, a mix of anger and sadness bubbling inside of me. I wanted to cry, to destroy everything in sight and scream until my voice gave out. But I remained quiet, a daunting task, and held my breath, awaiting my mother's response.

"Don't call him that! He's…he's—"

"A faggot. Face it, that's what he is. Look at everything else he's done to try and ruin us, what we have. Did you really think this would be beneath him? Mason is an abomination, and I told you right from the start when all of this began, you should have sent him away. You let your feelings for him blind you to what he is, Olivia. And I understand. But now it's time to cast out the evil. You can finally be happy."

Her silence hurt more than any words she could have said. It was an unspoken agreement to the speech he had delivered, proof that on some level, my own mother had harbored hatred for me.

I knew what I'd done all those years. The fights, the drinking, the hurtful words that spewed from my mouth at the worst of times. But I tried. I tried so goddamn hard to be good, to prove I wasn't rotten to the core.

It was never enough for them, for her, no matter what I did. My image had been tainted, and all that was left of my former self was a shell, a shell filled with anger and pain. A shell that sought nothing but a reprieve from the nightmares that plagued my sleep, the cruel words that were directed at me and the beatings I received.

But they had no knowledge of what I endured, and wouldn't know because they wouldn't care. And so I slipped deeper into the dark hole I had dug for myself, letting the resentful, wicked side of myself that I tried in vain to keep buried dig its way to the surface, erasing all traces of the kind person I used to be.

And here is where it landed me; hiding at the bottom of the stare case listening to how much of a burden I was, destined to spend eternity burning in the fires of Hell.

"Let's just wait, alright?" I heard her say, her voice barely above a whisper. "Then he'll be gone."

Before I could realize what I was doing, I stepped out from my hiding place and marched into the kitchen, my hands balled into fists. The two of them jumped, startled at my sudden appearance and glanced at each other.

I walked right up to Nathaniel, staring straight into his dark, beady eyes. "Get out of my face, faggot," he warned.

"Fuck you," I slammed my head into his, and as my forehead made contact, I heard the loud crunching of bone. I turned away from the now injured man and glared at my mother. "And fuck you, too. I expect this from him, but not you. You're my _mother_."

"Mason, I—"

"Don't even bother," I said and walked away, ignoring the threats and insults Nathaniel bellowed, the choking sobs made by my mother.

. . .

The Vale was empty again, with the exception of the rather large number of preps that roved the town's streets in packs. I steered clear of them and narrowly avoided being run over by an old man on a moped that possessed the audacity to yell at me for getting in _his _way.

I bounded down the stairs and trudged across the sand, putting enough distance between myself and the two preps playing Frisbee. Luckily they hadn't noticed me, and after double checking to make sure, I plopped down onto the ground and laid down.

The warm sun felt good on my skin, comforting almost, like an embrace from a lover. Something I craved at this very moment.

Exhaling loudly, I tried to block out the sounds of the chatter coming from the pair a few yards away and focused on the lulling sound of the waves crashing against the sand. Or, at least I made a good attempt at doing so. A voice—a shrill one at that—kept repeating the same word over and over, and when I opened my eyes to see just who was yelling, I found myself staring up at some girl's cleavage.

"Nice tits," I said and smirked when she gasped and stood upright.

"Pervert," she shrieked.

I snorted. "I'm beginning to think you're the pervert; first you shove your boobs in my face, and now you're standing over my head—nice panties, by the way."

"You're disgusting!" the girl shouted and kicked sand in my eyes.

I stood up angrily and began rubbing away at my eyes. "What the hell was that for?"

"For staring up my skirt, you creep!" the girl stared at me, wild eyed.

"I was not! Jesus Christ…what do you want anyway?"

She gestured back to the preps. "I was over there, and I noticed you walking over here."

"And?" I asked curtly.

"And, I wanted to ask if you were the boy Gord hangs around with," she said. "That's all."

I nodded slowly. "I am. Why?"

"I was curious…I wanted to see what his boy toy looked like," she smirked, her eyes dragging up and down my body. "I must say, he's got good taste. I'm Pinky, by the way."

"Mason," I rolled my eyes. "And yeah, he does. Speaking of, have you seen Gord at all?"

"No, none of us have. There's been talk of him leaving town, though, what with the Greasers on his case again. He's been fooling around with Johnny Vincent's girl again," she shook her head. "They're all supposed to be coming here, all the way from New Coventry to find him."

I grimaced. Was this what was bothering Gord last night? Why hadn't he told me?

And why was I bothered that he was hooking up with another person?

"He must have really pushed them this time."

She shrugged. "It's not the first time. Gord's been beaten up before by Johnny, but he never learns. Derby says he has it coming."

_Derby might be right on this one. _"Hm. When are the Greasers supposed to show?"

"I heard sometime today. The whole campus has been all riled up. We haven't had a fight like this in a while."

"Might not be wise to stick around here then," I replied absently, staring out at the road. A row of Preps had lined up against the railing, defending the beach. Their territory. "I'm surprised the cops haven't shown up yet to question the sentinels up there," I nodded toward the road.

"Now that you mention it, I am, too," she said, twirling a piece of hair around her finger. "The police are usually all over us if anyone tries to fight."

Pinky jumped slightly and lifted her hand to check the cellphone that had been clutched tightly in her hand. Long fingers pounded away on the keyboard at a speed I never witnessed. She returned her attention to me.

"They want to see you," Pinky nodded back toward the boys. "Come with me."

Warily, I walked alongside her, brushing sand off of my clothes and out of my hair. A few of them had turned around and watched with narrowed eyes as I climbed the stair case. I stood before them with arms crossed over my chest, staring expectantly at them.

A short boy stepped forward from the group, glaring up at me. "Tad Spencer," he said curtly, introducing himself. "I believe it should be obvious now that we don't like you," he said, speaking in a faux-British accent that I found incredibly annoying, "but you're a friend of Gord, and we have no idea as to where he disappeared to."

"And neither do I. I haven't seen or heard from him since last night," I said honestly. "His father's got property in the Vale, hasn't he?"

"Yes, he has," another boy answered. He was taller than the one standing in front of me, and had dark hair, and no accent.

"Have you checked there?"

The smaller boy's face reddened. "Why, no, we hadn't—"

"Oh, damn," one of them muttered.

We all turned to the left, searching for the source of the noise that seemed to grow louder and louder with each passing second. A mass of boys of varying heights and weights, all donning leather jackets and ratty jeans, marched toward us, wheeling their bikes beside them.

"Hey, look guys, they made our job easier; now we don't have to search for each one of you," a voice said from within the crowd of Greasers.

"What is it that you want, Vincent? We haven't got time for you grease-balls," the shorter prep said.

"You know exactly what I want. It's Gord's head."


	7. Chapter Seven

I recognized him immediately. _Johnny Vincent. The famed leader of the Greasers, and a giant bastard. _

He stood tall, his dark brown eyes narrowed at the boy next to me. Johnny was seething as he carried on about Gord, demanding that the Preps give up his whereabouts so that he may 'teach that rich scumbag a lesson'. He was given no information though, as no one knew where he was.

Johnny's eyes settled on me and his brows furrowed. He appeared confused, and his sudden silence had rendered both cliques feeling the same, each staring at the leather clad teen, most likely wondering why he was locked in a stare down with me. Johnny stepped forward, his head cocked to the side slightly.

"Who's your friend?" he asked.

"What's it to you?"

Johnny narrowed his eyes. "You can tell me his name, or I can beat it outta you. Your choice."

"Mason Luna," I said firmly, staring directly into the greaser's eyes.

"Luna, huh?" he said quietly. "Yeah, I heard about you. You're Gord's boy."

I glowered at him. "I'm no one's _boy_."

"That's not what I heard," he said. "So, since you two are so close, care to tell me where he is?"

"I can't. I don't know either."

"You sure you ain't just sticking up for your boyfriend?" Johnny pressed.

"I'm positive," I growled. "Now if you don't mind, I have better—"

"What the hell is going on here?" a familiar voice called, cutting me off. Jimmy Hopkins stood off to the side beside a red BMX bike, his squinty eyes regarding the large group suspiciously.

A few feet away, riding a much nicer bike, was a taller, leaner boy, lagging a few feet behind. His face was hidden behind a dingy blue crash helmet, littered with scratches and patches of mud. The visor had been flipped up, revealing a pair of large brown eyes.

"Just looking for an old friend," Johnny replied coolly. "An old friend that's been messin' with my girl again."

Jimmy sighed heavily, knowing who the greaser was talking about. And as his name was mentioned once more, the helmeted rider screeched to a halt, fortunately not gaining the attention of either clique.

The rider's eyes met my own, and I did all I could to keep from gasping, from running toward him.

Gord was going to get himself killed if he didn't leave, and there was nothing I could do to help him. If I ran toward him, they would follow. And there was no guarantee that even if I was defending Gord, that the Preps would, just once, watch my back.

We were screwed.

A delicate hand was placed on my shoulder. Pinky leaned in and whispered in my ear. "Are you seeing what I'm seeing?"

"That depends; what're you seeing?"

"Gord," she lowered her voice even more. "That's one of his bikes. It's him!"

"I realized that. You think anyone else noticed?"

"I hope not," she whispered, worry clear in her voice.

"Me too."

Jimmy and Johnny continued conversing with each other and I could see that Gord was growing more and more anxious. He awkwardly peddled around the entrance of the tunnel leading toward the carnival, his large eyes looking like they were about to pop out of his skull.

What was he doing in town, anyway? He was taking a very big risk attempting to ride through the Vale, and with Jimmy Hopkins of all people. Sure, the boy was built and a decent fighter, but he wasn't loyal, even if the payment was large. Who's to say he wouldn't abandon Gord if things got too out of hand?

Pinky and I both exhaled loudly in disappointment at the one sentence we hoped we wouldn't hear.

One of the Greasers pointed toward Gord, yelling out for him to come closer, and then proceeded to question him about his reasons for lurking near the crowd. I myself wanted to know why he remained so close and didn't continue riding off, far away from the danger these boys presented. No one would have been the wiser.

"Leave him alone, man, he's got nothing to do with this," Jimmy said.

"Who is he then?" Johnny asked.

"A friend of mine. Visiting from out of town," Jimmy lied smoothly.

Johnny didn't seem convinced. "Take the helmet off," he said to Gord. "Just to be sure I ain't being lied to. I hate liars."

Gord didn't remove the helmet, instead he sat there, frozen.

"Are you deaf?" Johnny asked, sounding annoyed. "Take the damn helmet off!"

He didn't, and it wasn't long before it dawned on them that Gord was the one hiding behind the mask, and in one split second, chaos erupted.

The Preps rushed forward, knocking Greasers off of their bikes and doing their best to keep the enemy at bay. Amidst the turmoil, I charged toward Gord who had begun peddling away as fast as his legs would allow. Hopkins grabbed the sleeve of my shirt and handed me a slingshot, which I grabbed hastily, all while giving him a confused glance.

"It works great in these situations," he rushed the words out. "Just be sure you hit 'em in the head if they start to chase after you."

Jimmy shoved a generous handful of pellets in my hand and pushed me toward Gord. He was halfway up the block now, approaching the intersection near the town's burger joint. I called after him, begging him to slow down long enough for me to hop on the back of the bike.

After a minute or so of running and breakneck speed, he stopped for me, and I climbed onto the pegs, positioning myself so that I could see behind us.

"You dipshit!" I yelled, panting hard. "What the fuck were you thinking?"

"Mason, this is not the time to be berating me for my stupidity," Gord said. His pitch was high, and if it were any other time I'd have laughed.

"You son of a bitch, I'm gonna get you!"

I turned my head around sharply. A trail of Greasers, about five or six of them, raced up the road behind us. I loaded the slingshot with ease and began releasing pellet after pellet, hitting them all, like Jimmy had advised, in the face.

Cries of pain and vulgar curses echoed loudly as one after the other hit the pavement hard, landing on their backs and clutching at the spots they had been hit.

There was one left, and it was the one I would take the most pleasure in hurting.

Johnny Vincent.

I grabbed a fistful of ammo, prepared to unleash them all on him. My plans were ruined as Gord's bike swerved sharply around a corner, and I lost my balance. I toppled off of the bike, skinning my knee on the asphalt. Gord slowed to give me time to catch up but I urged him to leave. Reluctantly he did so.

Johnny's bike came closer, and I reached out, grabbing him by the collar of his jacket, and tossed him backward off of the bike. He landed with a loud grunt and got to his feet, breathing hard.

"This ain't your fight, kid," Johnny said, inching toward his bike.

"It is now, considering you tried attacking my friend," I glowered. Limping, I grabbed Johnny's bike and flung it aside, the hunk of metal landing in nearby bushes. "You're not getting anywhere near him."

"Aww, how cute. Sticking up for your boyfriend," he said mockingly, his lips curled into an angry snarl. "I'll have fun kicking both your asses."

I rushed forward, swinging my fist as hard as I could. Blow for blow, each punch connected with his body. He groaned in pain and kicked out, knocking my legs out from under me. Johnny straddled my lap and held me down by my throat with one hand while the other reached deep into his pocket.

Wrapped around his knuckles was a worn out looking pair of brass knuckles, the weapon barely fitting around his fist. The metal struck my jaw with as much force as Johnny could muster, and I felt as if the bones had been shattered into a million pieces.

Enraged and in pain, I flipped Johnny onto his back and began striking every inch of him that I could see, Johnny managing to do the same. I was no longer set on harming him as a way to hinder him from reaching Gord. I wanted him to feel the pain he had caused me, the nightmare was all I could see at that moment, and I felt like I couldn't stop hitting him. Like my body wouldn't allow it.

His face was cut up and bruised by the time he had thrown me off of him, and with one last blow to the head, I was knocked unconscious.


	8. Chapter Eight

The disgusting smell of rotted trash permeated the air and woke me from the unconscious state I had been in. I wasn't sure how much time had passed since that final strike—a few hours, a day, maybe more—all that I could tell was that it was daytime, and that I was in a place I clearly didn't belong.

The room was falling apart, and literally so. The drywall had all but completely disappeared, revealing the structural beams that lie beneath. The wood looked like it was barely able to support the weight of the ceiling above, bowing under the pressure. Roaches climbed what was left of the high walls, disappearing within the open cracks. Trash bags were littered about the room, and from what I could see through bleary eyes, clothes were stuffed inside of them.

I was laying on a lumpy mattress with a single bed sheet covering my bruised body. I pulled the stained cloth off of me; my knee was covered in about six or so Band-Aids, and it looked like none of the blood had been cleaned off. It was still caked onto my skin and the hairs on my leg.

My phone was placed on the dirty tile floor I noticed after another minute of surveying the room, but when I went to reach for it, a white hot pain coursed through my entire right side. Nausea washed over me and I tried hard to keep the bile that rose in my throat down. I managed to successfully.

Apart from the squeaking of rats and the scuttling of insects across the floor, I could hear nothing. I wondered if I was left alone here in this slum, left to rot on a filthy mattress that I could on surmise had been slept on by a myriad of homeless people and was the place where cheap sex had taken place.

The thought of laying in someone's dry body fluids sent shivers down my spine, and I felt like my skin was on fire, needing to be soaked and cleaned of all the germs that crawled on me.

I glanced over to my right and saw a pair of eyes staring through the wooden beams and instantly I tensed. I wasn't in the company of friends, that much I could tell, and thought briefly about what was going to happen to me in the following moments.

The door opened, or at least what was left of it. Most of the wood had broken off, leaving a gaping, jagged hole near the middle of the door. In walked Johnny, looking about as banged up as I felt. I expected him to attack, or at the very least appear angry, but he didn't.

He looked oddly calm, and his eyes held a certain curiosity to them as he observed me from his vantage point near the door. I pushed myself up into a sitting position and swung one leg over the side of the bed. The motion sucked out what energy I had left in me, and I breathed heavily, trying to overcome the waves of pain.

"Where am I?" I asked him.

"Tenements," he answered. "It's where we live."

"How quaint," I muttered. "I like what you've done with the place."

Johnny moved toward me to sit on the bed. "You've been out of it for a while."

"Yeah? How long?"

"Little over two days."

"Christ," I leaned back against the wall. "And nobody thought to bring me to the hospital?"

He shrugged. "You kept wakin' up…we thought you were alright. We let you sleep it off."

"How kind of you," I said sarcastically.

Johnny scowled. "Don't be a dick. I could've left you knocked out on the street, but I didn't. Be thankful for that."

"Yes, I'm oh so grateful you chose to bring me here of all places. Lying on the street corner would have been much better, and probably cleaner, too," I spat.

His face reddened with anger. "Look, I get it; you don't like me, okay? But you don't have to—"

"Don't like you?" I asked, laughing dryly. "No, I hate you."

"I figured that much. At least hold off on the shit talking until you're all healed up," he said. "Cause I could kick your ass right now, and you wouldn't stand a chance. No matter how big you got since I last saw you," he added, staring at my arms and chest.

He was right. The last time we had seen each other, about six years ago, I was short, shorter than most kids my age, and skinny. But I had grown a lot during that time, and was no longer the weak child he had known.

Despite that, in my injured state, he certainly would have the upper hand.

"So what am I supposed to do in the meantime if I can't lay here and give you shit?"

A small smile curved his lips. "How about we get you outta bed and grab something to eat?"

"I don't have any money though," I told him.

Johnny shrugged. "It's fine. My treat. I am the one who did this to you after all."

"Wouldn't be the first time either," I muttered bitterly.

I hadn't enjoyed the thought of spending any more time with him than I had to, but food didn't sound so bad right now. I hadn't eaten since Friday afternoon, and it was at least Monday. I needed to get something in my stomach.

And to shower, but I feared I'd wind up feeling dirtier afterward than if I were to just go without washing.

"Don't bring that shit up," he complained, frowning slightly. "That was forever ago. It's all in the past."

I groaned in pain when I tried to stand. "I'll let it go this time. I'm hurting too bad to bitch."

Johnny hooked his arm under my shoulder and helped me to my feet. His nose wrinkled as I leaned into him for support.

"God, you smell ripe. Feel like takin' a shower?" he moved back slightly.

"That'd be nice…do you actually have bathrooms here?"

"Yeah, we do, Mason. We might be in the slums, be we're not uncivilized, you know," he replied. Johnny nodded toward a doorway in the corner, and I caught a whiff of his cologne as he moved, a warm, musky scent. "You can shower in there. Hot water lasts the longest in there, but don't take forever."

"What do I do about clothes? And brushing my teeth?"

Johnny pursed his lips. "I'll get ya clothes. And I got extra toothbrushes lyin' around here somewhere. You go on in. I'll leave the stuff in the bathroom."

Sliding my arm off his shoulder, I hobbled off in the direction of the bathroom. I shut the door behind me and began the painful process of undressing, dropping my clothes into a neat pile near the chipped sink on the wall opposite from me. The walls were painted a light yellow to match the floor tiles, an ugly color scheme, but what more could one expect from a tenement? The shower looked like it was made for a locker room rather than a home. Four shower heads lined the wall, a large, rusted drain in the center of the floor. Shampoo and body wash bottles lined the floor of the shower, some empty, others full.

Naked and sore I walked across the cold tile and twisted the dial underneath one of the few shower heads and awaited the blast of cold water. It never came, in its place was scalding hot water, and the heat had never felt so good. I rolled the kinks out of my shoulder, enjoying the feel of the harsh stream of water coming down on my chest.

I turned around and closed my eyes, letting the water drip over my head, my back, and stretched my arms upward. I ran my hands through my hair and tried to relax as much as possible, letting quiet groans escape my lips. This was something I needed.

Johnny's reminder not to take forever drifted into my mind and I opened my eyes again, only to find him standing in front of the sink, dark brown eyes watching me intently. I cleared my throat, snapping him out of whatever trance he had been in.

His cheeks turned a dark shade of red. "Here's some clothes. I got you a toothbrush, too."

"Thanks," I said to him. Johnny left the room, and I wondered just how long he had been standing there watching me.

. . .

A few minutes later I was dressed in the clothes he had given me, a pair of light blue jeans that were a little snug and a plain grey t-shirt. I dropped my dirty clothes onto the mattress and sat down to put my shoes on.

Johnny sat on the opposite side of the bed, idly flipping through what looked to be an old comic book. He made no indication that he noticed I had entered the room and I wasn't sure if he was so engrossed in the comic, or was ignoring me. Either way, I hadn't minded the silence, but part of me wanted to question him.

I decided not to.

"Well…I'm all dressed now."

He looked up from the book. "Good. Let's go. I'm so hungry right now."


	9. Chapter Nine

Johnny led me down the road past several shops and downtrodden buildings, and after more than a block of walking, I began to complain. I was in pain, and without any sort of medication in my system, walking was not pleasant. Even breathing hurt.

We passed a gas station and finally reached a rundown looking pub, one that Johnny had been bragging about during the duration of the trek here. He claimed they had the best food in Bullworth, aside from the pizza place the two of us had frequented—never together mind you—in our old town.

He opened the door and out came the sound of drunken shouting, the wailing solo of a guitar playing over the speakers inside. With a skeptical glance I walked inside, and immediately began choking on the cloud of cigarette smoke that hung thick in the air like fog. I weaved my way through the maze of tables, stepping over piles of discarded food and the occasional puddle of vomit, and chose a table near the back of the bar.

Johnny handed me the small menu that was already on the table and leaned forward, raising his voice over the music.

"What do you think you want?"

"Something good," I answered lazily, gazing at him through the smoke. "Something that'll fill me up."

Though I doubt anything will. Their food selection was slim and I could only imagine the delicacies a place like this would churn out.

Johnny tapped his finger on his chin. "Huh. I think I got something in mind."

"Yeah?"

He nodded. "Mhm."

"And what's that?"

"A burger," he grinned. "It's what I'm getting. I think you'll like it."

The waitress had come then and Johnny had taken the liberty of ordering not only for himself, but for me as well. After she left, not much was said between the two of us, and finally being face to face with the one who had given me so much shit over the years, I couldn't possibly have kept my mouth shut for much longer.

"So how'd it feel beating me up again?" I blurted.

Johnny's gaze dropped to the floor. "I thought I told you not to bring that stuff up."

"Yeah, you did, but I'm notorious for having problems with listening to what people tell me to do. So, again, how'd it feel?"

"I was angry, so…it was nice finally kicking the shit outta someone," he became quiet for a few moments. "I started remembering all the times I had ragged on you as a kid when I knocked you on your ass."

"That ragging was on a nearly constant basis. I could never figure out why, though. I mean, we never talked to each other," I said. "The only reason we even knew each other is because we had all those classes together."

"Yeah, I know. I guess I was just a shitty kid back then."

"Have you changed at all?" I asked, already knowing the answer. He was the same Johnny I knew back then.

Johnny shrugged. "I guess I have…a little bit. You seem like you did, though."

"I had to. If I didn't toughen up, I'd have gotten eaten alive. Your friends never backed off after you left, so that shit went on for much longer than it should have."

"Sorry about that," he stared at me, his eyes searching mine, and he looked like he wanted to say something. No words left his lips.

"Don't be. It'd have been the same even if you were there. Except, you'd have been in on it, too."

"I could have changed."

"Could have, yeah. But you didn't. You're still a bully who beats the shit out of people," I said, narrowing my eyes.

"Yeah, and what'd you turn into, huh? A giant dick, Mason. You ain't much better than me," he shot back.

"I wouldn't have been this way if it weren't for you and your asshole friends."

"I mighta played a part in that, but you could've changed, too, when you left town. But hey, you're still the same," Johnny said.

"Fuck you, Johnny," I glared.

A flash of annoyance crossed his face before he smirked at me, which made me angrier than I already was.

"Sorry, I'm in a committed relationship," he said.

I shook my head. "I'm trying to be serious here, you know. This is the first time we've spoken in years."

"Yeah, but why do we have to be?" he asked. "Aren't reunions supposed to be happy things?"

"Not all of them are. Especially not when they involve a shit head like you," I said.

"Come on, enough with the name calling already. I took you in, Mason. I was kind enough to do that, even after all the shit we had between us. Can't you at least be a little nice?" Johnny leaned across the table. "Or did I suck that outta you, too."

"I'm capable of that," I said evenly, leaning back in my seat. I drummed my fingertips on the table. "But not right now."

I stood up and began walking away from Johnny, covering my eyes as I stepped out into the blinding sunlight. I reeked of cigarette smoke and I longed to go home, to shower, and to rest in my own bed.

I was stopped though, at the corner of the street, and I turned sharply on my heel. A movement I was surprised I could make.

"What?" I asked harshly.

Johnny frowned deeply at me. "If you're gonna leave…at least let me take you to get your stuff."

. . .

Johnny insisted on walking me to the underpass at the edge of town, something I wasn't quite pleased about, but allowed it anyway, not in the mood to argue.

I was still wearing Johnny's clothes and had my things placed in a plastic bag marked with the Yum-Yum Market logo that he had given to me. He walked alongside me, occasionally bumping his elbow against mine, and I felt like we were children again.

Never speaking, but always moving so close to each other, and I could never understand why. Even if we had been fighting, I'd always find him near me, watching me.

Johnny stopped in front of me. "So…you gonna be going to Bullworth?"

"Yeah. My parents enrolled me."

"Maybe we'll have a few classes together," he said. "Like old times."

"Hopefully it'll be nothing like old times, but yeah, maybe we will."

He adjusted the strap on his sleeve. "Of course it won't be. Maybe we can be friends, too, or whatever. You can quit hanging with those preppie douchebags."

"Don't push it, Vincent," I warned.

He tossed his hands up defensively. "Alright, alright."

"Well…thanks I guess for not leaving me on the side of the road," I mumbled awkwardly.

"Anytime, kid."

With an unspoken goodbye, we parted ways, each returning to our own little corner of the world. Johnny back to the slums of New Coventry, and I to the Vale. It was a trip I didn't want to make, not only because of the tremendous pain I felt, but because I still couldn't bear to be around my parents.

But I'd have to get over it. There wasn't much time left to be spent there, and I hoped that after I was gone, things would go smoothly.

Though, with my track record, that was bound to happen…never.


	10. Chapter Ten

::::Two Weeks Later::::

My eyes shot open as the blaring alarm emitted from the small device beside my bed, reverberating off of the walls and pounding in my ears that were not quite ready to handle such noise.

I felt my way through the dark and ripped the cord out of the wall, putting an end to the ungodly noise. It was a decision I somewhat regretted, considering I hadn't known what time it was before I pulled the plug and how much time I had left to get ready.

Today was my first day at Bullworth, and it was bound to be an interesting one. I had a meeting with the head, Dr. Crabblesnitch, at 8:30, a half hour before classes began. I could only imagine the things the old man would have to say to me once he saw me.

I rolled out of bed, still feeling sore from the fight that occurred a few weeks ago. Upon returning home that day, I discovered that I had a nasty gash that ran the length of the right side of my face—probably from all the times I had been punched by Johnny—and my ribs were covered in bruises. The only thing on my body that had healed since then was the cut on my knee that I received after falling off of Gord's bike.

Gord and I hadn't spoken since the day of the fight, and through talking to some of the Preps, I learned that he had been holed up inside of Harrington House, afraid that the Greasers would come after him. They hadn't let up yet, and I had been told that Derby was coming down hard on Gord for all the drama he'd caused.

I checked the time on my phone. I had an hour left before I had to be at the school, and the more I thought about it, the more my stomach churned. Anxiety was something I rarely experienced, but the thought of having to once again attend school, and with people like these, it put me on edge.

. . .

I slid into a pair of grey jeans and pulled a plain black polo shirt over my head, set on looking at least mildly presentable, and finished packing my bag. I stuffed as much of the contents of my closet as I could into the duffel bag, despite the fact I could have easily walked back home had I needed more clothes, and filled the rest of the available space with an extras that I could find.

The house was quiet when I left, and I hadn't bothered to wake either of them up to tell them I was leaving. The anger I felt toward them had yet to subside. I couldn't even look at them without wanting to punch holes in the wall. Thankfully I had restrained myself from doing so; otherwise my head would have been put through one of those holes.

Traffic filled the streets as people rushed to drop their children off at school, to make it to work on time, and it seemed like no one was moving. The cars were backed up all the way to the intersection near the park, and judging by the amount of people laying on their horns, they weren't happy about that fact.

I cut through the stalled vehicles and walked along the sidewalk, heading across the bridge towards Bullworth Academy. As I neared the campus, I saw that a fight had broken out between several boys. A few of them wore white button downs while the others, who were taking the brunt of the beating, wore green sweater vests.

Perplexed by how they possessed the energy to fight so early in the morning, I paused beside a small group of students that had stopped to watch the fight. A few of them were complaining about how it was 'too early for all this bullshit,' a thought I shared, and I had gotten so caught up in watching the fight that I hadn't noticed someone standing right behind me, their chest pressed flush against my back.

"Things haven't changed, have they?" a voice said, and the contempt they felt was clear in their voice.

I turned around and was met with an unfortunately familiar face.

Gary stood a few inches away from me, grinning deviously in the morning light, though the smile hadn't quite reached his eyes. He donned the same uniform he had worn during his last year in Bullworth, but this time the teal sweater vest hung loosely on his frame. Gary looked thinner, and paler too, only adding to the contrast between his light skin and the dark scar that bisected his eyebrow.

I studied him for a long moment before cracking into a grin. "Who was crazy enough to let you back into Bullworth?"

"Dr. Eklund was convinced that I had made great progress during our therapy sessions, and that the medication had succeeded in calming my behavior," Gary said in an almost sing song voice.

"Or so you had them believe."

He grinned. "You'd think a man who had devoted years of his life to helping people like me would realize when a patient is lying. But no; he's just as stupid as the rest of them."

Gary clamped a hand on my shoulder and began leading me toward the front entrance of the school. The crowd had just begun to die down, as the prefects had managed to break up the fight and were now herding the students back onto school grounds.

Their attention had been diverted from the violence to Gary and I, who walked through the sea of students that parted ways for us, staring in disbelief at the scarred boy who walked alongside me.

He paid them no mind, or at least made no indication that he noticed we were being watched, and spoke to me.

"Who was crazy enough to let _you _into Bullworth?" Gary asked, repeating my question.

"Crabblesnitch. And he's putting me on lockdown," I sneered. I checked the time on my phone. "I've got a meeting with him in a few, actually."

"I'm sure you're thrilled about that," he said sarcastically. His eyes drifted toward the main building. "I'd love to stay and chat—really, I've missed you terribly—but I've got some people who I think would be delighted to see me."

I shook my head. "Causing trouble already?"

"Me? Now why in the world would I do that? I'm hurt," Gary said in mock offense. After a few seconds of holding the pained look, the expression melted away, leaving behind the familiar stoic face I had come to know.

"Try not to stir things up, alright?" I said. "I'll see you around, Gary."


	11. Chapter Eleven

I rushed into the school, careful not to waste any more time than I already had, and ascended the staircase leading toward the office.

A tall secretary stood behind the desk, her long fingernails tapping along to the beat of the song playing on the small radio located somewhere in the room. There was no one else in there, besides a young boy who sat in the corner on one of the few chairs reserved for students called to the office. He looked absolutely miserable, and part of me was tempted to ask what was wrong, but I had other things to worry about.

Like the woman who was glaring at me from her spot behind the counter that separated her and I. I placed my bag down on the floor at my feet.

"Can I help you?" her eyes were glued to the cut on my face.

"I have a meeting with Dr. Crabblesnitch," I said, trying to sound as polite as possible.

The woman typed away on her computer. "Mason Luna?"

"That's me."

She narrowed her eyes. "I've heard a bit about you, boy. Go on in. Dr. Crabblesnitch is waiting."

I walked around the counter, holding my bag close to my side, and knocked gently on the large door. Just as I raised my fist to knock once more, a deep voice beckoned me into the room.

I opened the door and stepped into the head's office. A tall man dressed in a dark suit rose to his feet and regarded me with tired eyes. He waved his hand, gesturing for me to come in, and I did so, stopping to stand in front of the large oak desk.

Paperwork and files littered the surface of the desk, and off to the side sat a half-eaten bagel and a cup of coffee.

Dr. Crabblesnitch resumed his seat in the large leather chair. "That's quite a wound you've got there."

I lifted my finger to trace the length of the cut. "Yes, and it hurt just about as bad as it looks."

"How did you get it?"

"Shaving accident," I replied.

A ghost of a smile crept onto the wrinkled man's face. "I see you've got a sense of humor. Sit down."

I plopped onto the small chair, sitting as straight as my spine would allow.

The dean stared at me for a long moment, and I could feel myself shrinking back into the chair under his scrutinizing gaze. I was never one who gave into intimidation, but this old man holds my life in his hands. One wrong move, and the next year, if I even survive that long, will be a living hell.

"I've been waiting for the day I would finally get to meet you. I must say, you certainly look different than I had imagined."

"Oh?"

"Mmm. You don't look like much of a troublemaker. But, I've learned over the years that looks, more often than not, are incredibly deceiving," he said. "I pray you are smart enough to keep your nose clean, boy. Or else your time spent here will be anything but enjoyable."

"Don't worry, sir, I have no intentions of getting myself into any trouble."

He narrowed his eyes. "You'd better not. When your parents came to me, I told them that I would never consider allowing you here. But your mother fought for you; she's a persistent one, I'll tell you that. And she believes that you've changed considerably since that incident. For her sake, I hope you have. I would hate to see such a nice woman let down like that."

I fought back a scowl. "I wouldn't dream of disappointing her. She's right after all, I have changed. I saw the error of my ways, I guess you could say."

The dean leaned back. "I'm going to be watching you like a hawk, Mason. Heaven forbid I even suspect that you and that twisted boy are up to something, I'll have you both pumped full of medication and sent to the asylum. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Now, classes don't begin until tomorrow morning. I like to give a day for the students to become acquainted with the campus," he told me. "Attendance is of the utmost importance. We value education here at Bullworth."

I crossed my legs. "I'm sure."

"And in your case, should you miss one class, for whatever reason, you'll be suspended. For one week, without any chance to make up any work you may have missed."

"Do you not trust me that much?" I pulled a face.

"Quite frankly, yes, and I believe I have good reason for it. Now, here are all of the necessary papers you need," Crabblesnitch handed me one of the files that had been on his desk.

I skimmed through it briefly. Inside were multiple copies of my schedule with my room assignment scrawled on top, a map, and a copy of the school guidelines. Everything but the schedule was unnecessary. I knew my way around the school, and the rules were the same no matter where you went.

"It was a pleasure finally getting to meet you, boy," Dr. Crabblesnitch said. "I can only hope you remain as well behaved throughout the year as you've shown yourself to be. Your uniform will be in your dorm room, I suggest you change into it."

"Will do," I nodded.

"Run along now," he dismissed me with a wave of his hand.

I adjusted the strap of my bag over my shoulder and left his office without another word. The boy was still seated there when I re-entered the main office, and this time he glanced up at me as I walked in his direction. A single tear rolled down his cheek, and I offered a sympathetic smile, feeling slightly bad for the kid.

I had been in his place all too many times, and I could only guess the dark haired boy was there for the same reason.

He sniffed, curving his quivering lips into a weak smile.

"Cheer up, kid," I said, and continued on my way out of the office.

Eyes were focused on me, and I could hear them all whispering as I cut through the small clusters of students. Just like Gary had earlier, I ignored them all, and headed toward the boys dorm.

I would have a hard time getting in, though, as the stairs leading up to the decrepit looking dormitory were taken up by a large group of Greasers. They sat around, talking, laughing and yelling insults at anyone that passed them. I slowed my pace as I came closer to the group, wondering why they were there, and if I was in any trouble.

One of them spotted me and broke off from the rest of the group. He was short, and had thick brown hair that was slicked back with a copious amount of gel. The boy shoved his hands into the pockets of his brown leather jacket and stopped just a foot away.

"You're the new kid, right? Mason?" he had a sort of nasally voice. I remembered hearing it the day of the fight. The kid stuck out his hand for me to shake. "Name's Peanut."

I shook his hand. "Nice to meet you… Peanut."

"Yeah. You think you and I could talk somewhere? Privately?"

I shrugged. "Sure, I guess. We could talk in my dorm? I've gotta put this stuff away, anyway."

Peanut nodded and turned to the other members of his clique, dismissing them with a nod of his head. They all shuffled off, freeing up the stair case for Peanut and I.

I opened the file Crabblesnitch gave me and glanced at the room number. Thirteen. I searched up and down the hall before finding my room. I opened the door and walked inside.

It looked like it hadn't been used in years. Everything was covered in a thick layer of dust, the corners home to spider webs filled with dead insects. The sheets were dull and dirty and the furniture was worn and defiled, inappropriate illustrations carved into the dark wood of the headboard and the wardrobe on the opposite wall.

I dropped my bag onto the floor. "So, what'd you wanna talk about?"

He finished looking around the room. "This is worse than my dorm," Peanut shook his head. "Anyway, I wanted to talk about you."

"Me?" I asked curiously.

"That is what I said, isn't it?" he asked, sounding annoyed. "Johnny told me about you. He said you guys were friends when you were little."

"We weren't exactly friends, but we grew up together," I said.

"Yeah, well, he said you weren't such a bad guy. And that he wanted us to make sure no one gave you any shit, since you're new and all."

I rolled my eyes. "You can tell Johnny I said thanks, but I don't need anyone watching over me."

"He told me you'd say something like that," Peanut said. "Just think about it. Might not be a bad thing to have people on your side, you know?"

"Yeah."

He took a step closer. "I gotta ask though, I saw you earlier with that psychopath, Gary Smith. How's a new kid like you know him?"

"He's an old acquaintance of mine," I answered firmly.

"Acquaintance or not, you want any help from us, you stay away from that jerk. He's no good. Got Johnny locked up in Happy Volts," he said.

I grimaced, remembering that fiasco all too well. "I guess Gary's as much of a pain as everyone claims then, huh?"

"Yeah, he is. And everyone here's gonna think the same of you if you hang around with him."

"I guess I'll have to stop," I threw the file onto the mattress where a pile of dress shirts and sweaters laid.

"No guessing on this, kid. I ain't gonna risk getting my ass beat to protect someone who's hanging with the person who got my friend locked up. Screw that."

"Then I'll stop, alright?" I sighed.

"Good. See you around, Mason," Peanut said, and closed the door behind him.

I ran my fingers through my hair and took one last look around the room. It was filthy, and needed to be cleaned. There was no way I was going to sleep in here like this.

I snatched the key off of the bed next to my uniform shirts and rummaged through my bag for my wallet. I found it tucked away inside of one of the pouches in the bag.

Shoving the leather wallet into my pocket, I left the dorms, double checking to make sure the door had actually locked, and headed for town.


	12. Chapter 12

Yum-Yum Market was just across the road when I spotted the Hopkins kid skate boarding down the street, wearing a pair of baggy blue jeans and a light grey hoodie. Much to my dismay, he saw me as well, and hopped off of the skateboard, walking toward me with a grimace on his face.

"Jesus Christ, what happened to you?"

"Well, that's no way to greet someone," I frowned. "It happened when I was helping Gord. I got beat up by Johnny Vincent."

"You?" he looked at me disbelievingly. "You look like you could take him."

"Yeah, I probably could, but it turns out I'm no match for brass knuckles."

He smirked. "Those Greasers always fight dirty. Then again, does the rest of the school. Wait 'til you get a brick thrown at you," he shook his head. "What are you doing in town?"

"A little shopping," I said. "My room's gross. I thought I'd pick up some cleaner and freshen the room up."

"Yeah, well you have fun with that. I've gotta head back to the school."

Jimmy hopped back on the board and skated off down the road without saying goodbye, and I jogged across the street toward the store.

Only a few people were inside when I entered, not counting the cashier, and I began grabbing stuff off of the shelves that I thought I would need—paper towels, garbage bags, Lysol, amongst other things—and dropped them onto the counter. The cashier rang me up and piled everything into a large bag. I paid and stopped short in the middle of the store when I saw who walked through the door.

"Well, look who it is," Gary raised an eyebrow. "I didn't think we'd see each other again so soon."

"Neither did I. Miss me?" I asked him.

"Not in the slightest, friend," he scoffed. Gary pointed at the bags in my hand. "What's with all the stuff?"

"Doing a little cleaning today. Crabblesnitch stuck me with a shitty room."

"How unfortunate for you," he commented. "Luckily for me, my living situation turned out better than yours."

"I'm not even going to try and bother to figure out how that makes sense. I'd have thought you'd get the shitty end of the stick," I laughed.

"Ol' Crabblesnitch knows better than to mess with me. Speaking of messing with people…" he trailed off.

I groaned, knowing exactly where this conversation was headed. Gary was scheming again, and I could only assume that whatever plan he was coming up with was going to be just about as over the top as his last one.

"What've you got on your mind now, Smith?"

He chuckled. "You'll learn in time. I'm still working the kinks out of this one."

"I'm not entirely sure I want to learn," I said warily.

"That's too bad," Gary said, narrowing his eyes at me. "Because you're the only one here who I can even remotely trust—"

"Oh, what an honor it is to be that person…"

"—and if you don't want any secrets of yours circulating around the campus, I suggest you listen to what I have to say," Gary closed the distance between us and lowered his voice, his tone menacing. "Because if you think what I did to all of them was bad, just wait. You couldn't even begin to fathom what I'd do to you if you turned your back on me."

"I'm not your ally, Smith," I said harshly. "You fucked me over already. What you got going on in that head of yours, I want no part of."

"You said that last time. And where were you during all of that?" he asked, scratching his chin as if he were deep in thought. "Oh, right! You were at my side during it all."

I clenched my jaw. "Fuck off, Gary."

I pushed past him and left the store, marching angrily down the street. What makes him think I want in on his plan? I've got no reason to want to cause harm to anyone, and after all that I've been through, I wanted things to return to normal.

Or as normal as they had been.

. . .

The dorms were empty now; most of the students had left to roam the campus grounds and recount the details of their summer vacation, the thing's they'd bought and the places they'd been. And here I was with two bags full of cleaning supplies, ready to scrub down my room.

"Mason?"

I glanced over my shoulder. Gord stood a few feet away in front of one of the rooms. He was dressed in his usual school uniform, and it looked the like cut on his face had healed completely. I wished I could have said the same for myself.

I smiled at him. "Hey."

"I was hoping I'd run into you. For a minute you had me thinking you were a no show," he reached out and turned my face to the side, examining the wound on my face with widened eyes. "When did this happen?"

"When I fell off your bike. I got my ass kicked."

He frowned. "I'm sorry. I should have stayed and helped."

"Nah, don't worry about it. Getting you out of there was more important," I said. "What are you doing in the dorms, anyway? I thought you stayed at Harrington House."

His cheeks reddened. "Normally, yes. But Derby can be particularly nasty at times; he likes to throw us out when he gets angry. His form of punishment, I suppose."

"What's he got to be angry about?"

"He's been having his little tirades ever since the fight in the Vale. God knows I took the brunt of it since I was the one who started it all," Gord rolled his eyes.

"Don't you think it's about time to cut ties with that girl?" I asked. "All it's doing is causing drama."

"Life is dull without a little drama," Gord said.

"That drama earned me this scar," I pointed to the cut on my face. He frowned. "But hey, sleep with who you want to. No one's stopping you," I grumbled and turned to unlock the door.

"I never slept with her," he said quietly. Gord exhaled loudly. "So…what has young Mason been up to lately?"

"Recovering from my injuries."

"And I see you've shaved finally," he smirked.

I laughed quietly. "Yeah. Do you mind? I just want to throw this stuff in my room."

"Not at all. Do you mind if I come in? I really don't want to be out in the open right now, given all the tension with the Greasers."

Gord nudged me aside and slipped into the room, his body rubbing against mine in the small space between me and the doorframe.

Gord gasped. "Oh my God!"

"What?" I asked, rushing in behind him.

"Your room is atrocious! I've seen photos of sweatshops that were in better condition than this," he sounded horrified. Gord turned to me. "Mason, I do hope you plan on cleaning this before you even think of laying in that bed, or unpacking."

"That's what I planned on doing," I raised the bags up.

"On your own? Nonsense! You'll stay in my dorm for the time being—"

"It's fine, really—"

"I've got an extra bed in there and everything, and as far as I know, no roommate. Oh! Maybe I'll see if I can sneak in one of my father's cleaners," he rambled on, chatting excitedly.

"You don't have to do that, you know," I said, uncomfortable with his offer. I wasn't used to people doing nice things for me, even if it was just having someone clean my room. "A little Windex and some airing out will do this room good."

Gord grabbed my shoulders. "No. I'm going to do this for you regardless of what you say. You helped me out, and this is the least I can do in return."

_Why was he so insistent on doing this? _

"Besides, I can't believe they would give you a room like this."

"It makes sense that they would…sorta," I muttered under my breath.

"So that's final. I'm having your room cleaned."

"Thanks, Gord," I smiled sheepishly.

"You don't have to thank me. Generosity is in my nature," he grinned.

I laughed loudly. "That is the biggest load of bullshit I've ever heard."

"How?" he asked, his brows knitted together, though a smile was forcing its way onto his face.

"You? Generous? Selfless in any way?" I rolled my eyes. "You are one of the most stuck up, greedy, narcissistic boys I have ever met," I said, walking closer to him as I spoke.

"And that's why you love me," he teased, smirking at me.

My face began to feel hot, and I turned away from him to set the bags down, hoping I wasn't as red as I imagined I was. "Yeah, you wish."

"So what's the real reason you're being so nice to me, rich boy?" I asked him.

He chewed on his bottom lip. "Aside from being a good friend? I…need a favor."

"Oh, great. And how much trouble am I going to get into for this?"

"Not much," he said, averting his gaze. "That is, if you don't get caught."

I frowned. _Wonderful. Just when I promised Crabblesnitch I'd be on my best behavior._

"Just what exactly are you having me do?"

Gord shrugged. "Derby's not letting me back into Harrington House… and all of my belongings are there. They won't allow me in, so…"

"I can only assume you want me to go get them," I sighed. I had no problem helping Gord. What I had a problem with was the possibility of me actually getting caught and suspended for doing what Gord was suggesting.

"Yes! Please, Mason! It would mean the world to me if you did that," he grabbed my arms again and shook me lightly as he spoke.

I frowned. "I just had a talk with the dean earlier. I promised that I wouldn't do anything, and if I get caught sneaking in there, I'm dead."

"But you've done it before!" he whined.

"Yeah, but no one knew me then. If I'm spotted, I'm going to get my ass kicked. Again."

"No one will see you, or hurt you, but I guess I could always ask Hopkins if you're too worried."

"You don't have to ask that kid," I growled.

"So you'll do it?" Gord asked hopefully.

"Of course."

"Oh, thank you, Mason!" he lurched forward and wrapped me in a tight hug. Gord leaned up to whisper in my ear. "In the meantime, I'll have to think of a way to show you just how grateful I am."

I tried to repress a shiver that threatened to course through me at the thought of what he was implying.

Gord released me and surveyed the room once more with a look of disgust on his face before stopping behind me and placing his hand on the small of my back. I could feel his breath on my neck, steady and warm.

"How about you collect you things and bring them to my room? We'll get you unpacked and comfortable. Then, maybe, I can show you all the parts of Bullworth you _haven't_ seen."

_Good luck_, I thought. _I know just about every inch of this place._


	13. Chapter 13

An eerie silence settled over the campus, and as I traversed the school grounds, carefully stepping out of the line of sight of the prefects, I knew all too well that something bad was soon to follow. Silence was never a good thing, not even here, as the sounds of students clashing was something I had grown accustomed to in the Vale; it was a part of the twisted normalcy that existed in Bullworth, and the only time I had ever experienced a reprieve from all of the usual chaos, there was good reason for everyone to have been hiding away.

What could the reason be this time?

I stuck close to the wall, holding my breath as one of the prefects marched past the fountain, waving his flashlight in every direction. The light stopped just a few inches shy of where I was positioned, and I cringed, awaiting the scolding I was bound to receive.

Luckily, it never came, and the man turned in the opposite direction, resuming his patrol. Keeping my eyes on his large frame, I inched backward and crashed into something—or someone I realized, as a hand clamped over my mouth, muffling the shriek that escaped my lips. I tore the hand from my mouth and rose to my feet, coming face to face with the last person I had expected to see.

I pressed my hand over my heart, willing it to slow down, and after regaining some sort of composure, was met with the curious gaze of one Jimmy Hopkins.

"What are you doing out here so late at night?" he asked quietly. "It's almost one."

"I'm well aware of that," I grimaced. Gord had woken me up not a half hour ago, demanding that I retrieve his things before morning. Tomorrow was the first full day of classes, and according to him, he wouldn't be caught dead wearing the same thing two days in a row. "I've been given a job to do."

"What's that? You better not be up to anything," the boy pointed a finger in my face.

Just as I was about to respond, a beam of light shone brightly in my eyes. I cursed under my breath and dragged Jimmy toward Harrington House, away from the prefect that had begun running toward us.

We darted behind the wall, hiding in one of the dark corners of the lot beside the building. I pressed my hand to Jimmy's chest, pushing him back further into the darkness, and I leaned out to see if we had managed to evade the prefect. Ragged breathing and heavy footsteps rang in my ears as the prefect raced up the small staircase leading up to Harrington House. The man mumbled something about us kids being far too fast these days, and after a few moments of recuperating from the chase, shuffled off toward the fountain again.

I let out a sigh and turned to face Jimmy. "That was close."

"Tell me about it. I've been trying to avoid him all night," he shook his head. "So, about that job you were given..."

"Right. I was supposed to grab Gord's things—he was kicked out by Harrington," I explained when he shot me a confused look. "And of course he couldn't go back on his own...so here I am."

He smirked. "You're the preppies servant, huh?"

"Like you can talk. I've heard about you, you're everyone's errand boy," I said.

"Well, when the price is right, who could turn a bullshit job away?"

"You've got a point. Now, what are _you_ doing out here?"

Jimmy exhaled loudly and scratched at the back of his head. I could hear his fingers scraping over the stubble.

"I'm looking for Gary. Everyone's been so jacked up today since he came back, but no one's seen him. Not since this morning," Jimmy's lips pressed into a firm line. "You haven't seen him have you?"

"No. I've been holed up in the dorms all day. Why are you interested in his whereabouts, anyway?"

"I want to set things straight with him. I don't think this place could handle another one of his plans. They're still trying to settle down from that," Jimmy looked annoyed.

"You think he'd even listen to you? I mean, he probably sees you as the one that got him sent to Happy Volts. Gary would laugh right in your face if you tried to talk him out of anything," I told him.

And that was a fact I knew too well. Reasoning was something that never worked with Gary, especially when he had his mind set on something. There was no talking him out of it, no matter how convincing you thought you were. To think that he would be able to see the error of his ways was a foolish thing.

The only way to stop Gary would be to have him put back in his cage in Happy Volts. And I'm not even sure if that would work. He'd always find ways around things.

"So why don't _you _go talk—"

"No," I said sharply. "I won't. You're the one everyone listens to around here; if you want to lay down the law, you go do it."

Jimmy threw his hands up defensively. "Alright, alright," he mumbled, and I watched as his eyes drifted toward the tall building that was only a few feet away from us.

None of the lights seemed to be on, as far as we could tell, and I hoped that everyone had gone to sleep by now. With the preps locked away in their rooms, it would be much easier to slip in and out without the risk of being noticed.

I sighed heavily. "It's been a while since the last time I was inside there."

"You've been in there before?" he asked skeptically. "I've only been inside a few times, and even then they tried to get me out as quick as possible."

"That's only because they knew you were in there. I snuck in. Many times," I added, smirking. "And now I have to again. Care to join?"

He shrugged. "I don't know...if we get caught, Derby'll have a shit fit. I don't feel like listening to him."

"Neither do I, but at least I'll be the one taking the brunt of it and not you. Besides, since when has the threat of getting caught ever stopped you from doing anything?"

That was one thing Jimmy and I had in common; neither of us cared if we got caught, the only thing that mattered was getting the task at hand completed. Provided of course it benefited us in the end, and I wasn't sure what the benefit for me would be this time, though I supposed not having to hear Gord complain about his wardrobe woes was good enough.

"Now you've got a point," Jimmy peeked around the wall, and I guessed that he was looking for any sign of the prefect. "Follow me. There's a service door behind that wall over there," he pointed ahead of us. "We can use that. It's usually unlocked."


End file.
